


Portraits

by TheOceanIsMyInkwell



Series: Tender Is the Night [1]
Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Author is trans, Coming Out, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hair Braiding, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Pining, Trans Guillermo de la Cruz, Trans Male Character, nandor struggles with pronouns but he means well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 23:36:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28928907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOceanIsMyInkwell/pseuds/TheOceanIsMyInkwell
Summary: “Then there’s dry cleaning, which happens multiple times a week, because Laszlo insists on wearing white whenever he’s drinking, and there’s handwashing all the stuff that can be handwashed, and dusting and fertilizing and gardening and taxes--”“Taxes?”“Yes, master, taxes.”“I was not aware of these taxes! We have dominion over our street!” Nandor waves his hands around. “And over Ashley Street. But that is not the point. Why do we pay taxes?”“...Because we live in a house, master.”Nandor growls. “But I ate the guy who owns this house. Now I own it. I don’t owe anything to anybody.”Guillermo glances around for the non-existent cameras, helpless. “America doesn’t work that way, master.”“Yeesh.” Nandor grimaces. “I miss the days when you could pillage a village and declare no taxes because you were the new people living in it.”Guillermo...is pretty sure that’s not how the Ottoman Empire worked, either, but he lets it slide.--Nandor asks Guillermo to braid his hair one night, inspired by the Pin-ter-est, and it somehow ends with Guillermo coming out as trans.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz & Nandor the Relentless, Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Series: Tender Is the Night [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125197
Comments: 23
Kudos: 53





	Portraits

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Phantom Fangs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26329684) by [chiaroscure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiaroscure/pseuds/chiaroscure). 



> This was born of several plot bunnies that I decided to mash together: Guillermo unintentionally coming out as trans; him and Nandor having quiet intimate time together with their hair-brushing ritual; and Nandor asking him to do braids on him. This was also inspired in part by chiaroscure's amazing character study "Phantom Fangs" which really struck a chord with me as far as the metaphor of vampires for transitioning goes. Y'all should go read that one, too. It's a work of real art.
> 
> Also incorporating prompt #15: "I'd kill for a coffee right now...literally" and #50: "This is girl talk, so leave" from this [drabble prompt challenge](https://theoceanismyinkwell.tumblr.com/post/629368320451280896/prompts-list) :)
> 
> Theme song: ["Heart as a River"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Q1wwhSWbbo) by Robert Koch and Savanna Jo Lack because Nandermo just gives me that vibe, y'know?

Nandor rather likes listening to his familiar’s heartbeat. His vampire hearing renders him sensitive to sounds and other senses that even human scientists don’t understand, and the _thump thump, thump thump_ of Guillermo’s heart and the irregular little skips and flips it makes whenever he enters Nandor’s crypt to wake him and brush out his hair for the evening quite set Nandor in a lovely mood. He doesn’t know when he began seeking out the echo of Guillermo’s drawn-out breaths and blood pumping from across the house the first thing in the evening, but if he does do that nowadays, who is he to question it? He is over seven centuries old and there are far more important worries to concern him than his own feelings, thank you very much.

Still, one particular human sound that he cannot get over is the click of Guillermo’s jaw when he yawns. Guillermo is doing it right now, even as he finger-combs Nandor’s waves in even, focused strokes, and Nandor is starting to feel annoyance well up inside him. Fond annoyance, but annoyance all the same.

“Guillermo?” he begins.

Guillermo’s jaw pops and cracks as he lets out yet another yawn, made seemingly more gargantuan by the human’s effort to conceal it. He takes a full second to register that his master is speaking to him. “Huh?”

“Why do you yawn so much?”

Nandor can almost hear Guillermo furrowing his brow. “Well, master, I’m not sure why vampires don’t yawn, but I did learn in high school once that it has to do with our breathing patterns when--”

“I was referring to why are you yawning so much today. Have you been sleeping enough?”

“I--”

“You have a bed, you know. And a room. Paying rent for these things and not using them--that’s very wasteful.”

“I do sleep,” Guillermo protests. “Some of the time. When I can.”

“Well, what on earth are you doing during the day when I am sleeping?”

Guillermo mutters something under his breath, and his next tug on the strands on Nandor’s left temple seem to be a tad resentful, but Nandor could be imagining things.

“What was that, Guillermo?”

“I was just saying that I do...familiar...things. During the day. Y’know, my responsibilities as a familiar.”

“I was not aware that there were so many familiar…‘things’,” Nandor muses. He clicks the rings on his fingers together.

“Usually body-related, master. And mopping. And washing the mop and rags that I used to clean up the blood. Also spraying down the place with disinfectant and air freshener--”

“Yes, disinfectant, that’s good. That’s an essential part of the process,” Nandor admonishes him.

Guillermo barrels on, apparently on a vent-fueled roll. “That’s also not to mention the dish-washing, because Nadja likes to drink her blood out of teacups sometimes when it’s from the refrigerator, and it’s a real bitch to get the stains out of all the transparent Tupperware that she keeps having me buy.”

Nandor bares his teeth on one side of his mouth in agreement. “So very inconvenient. This is why I am always telling her to get a familiar who can fetch the virgins fresh for her.”

Guillermo raises a look heavenward. Okay, that wasn’t his point, either, but he lets it go.

“And then she likes me to polish the skulls every day, which--I don’t see the point of, because she usually takes them down and starts polishing them on her own as soon as she wakes up, and rearranges them again. And there’s also dealing with the telemarketers who are usually calling for Colin Robinson.” His fingers snag particularly hard in a knot in Nandor’s hair as he remembers the time he was eagerly awaiting a phone call from his aunt in Jalisco, who would only contact him via landline, and he had to field false calls from three separate telemarketers from three separate sister companies of T-Mobile because Colin Robinson had subscribed the house number to their advertisements for the sole purpose of backup-feeding on the poor customer service folks’ energy.

“Then there’s dry cleaning, which happens multiple times a week, because Laszlo insists on wearing white whenever he’s drinking, and there’s handwashing all the stuff that can be handwashed, and dusting and fertilizing and gardening and taxes--”

“Taxes?”

“Yes, master, taxes.”

“I was not aware of these taxes! We have dominion over our street!” Nandor waves his hands around. “And over Ashley Street. But that is not the point. Why do we pay taxes?”

Sensing his master’s quickly growing agitation, Guillermo purses his lips and picks up the hairbrush. “...Because we live in a house, master.”

Nandor growls. “But I ate the guy who owns this house. Now I own it. I don’t owe anything to anybody.”

Guillermo glances around for the non-existent cameras, helpless. “America doesn’t work that way, master.”

“Yeesh.” Nandor grimaces. “I miss the days when you could pillage a village and declare no taxes because you were the new people living in it.”

Guillermo...is pretty sure that’s not how the Ottoman Empire worked, either, but he lets it slide.

They lapse into another little silence, with Guillermo running the fine spokes of the hairbrush through Nandor’s waves. He finds his lids drooping. Eventually, another wave of warm fatigue overtakes him and he releases a gigantic yawn with another pop of his jaw.

“ _Guillermo_!” Nandor scolds him. “Stop that!”

“Sorry, master,” says his familiar with some semblance of true contrition. Exhaustion loosens his tongue, and he smears the pads of his fingers over his left eye behind his glasses. “Ugh. I’d kill for a coffee right now...literally.”

Nandor retorts without missing a beat, “And yet you condemn the lifestyle of us vampires.”

“I never said--”

“Don’t deny it. You condemn it. How does it feel now, to be so famished for something that you would kill for it?”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Guillermo wishes he’d worked harder on memorizing all the saints back from when he was in school so he could call on each of them individually to deliver him from this conversation. “I never said that, master,” he mumbles. “I specifically asked to be a vampire.” _Which, speaking of--still waiting over here_ , he adds venomously in his head.

“Hmph,” says Nandor.

Guillermo yawns again.

“Guiller--”

“I know, sorry, I’m sorry.” Guillermo picks up the pace of his brushing. “I guess this is just very soothing and makes me feel a little sleepy. Won’t happen again.”

“Oh.” Nandor deflates. “That’s okay, Guillermo. It is very soothing and makes me feel sleepy, too.” As if to illustrate his point, Nandor unconsciously leans back into Guillermo’s touch, shoulders drooping in relaxation and his head tipping back completely into his familiar’s palms.

Out of instinct, Guillermo starts rubbing tiny circles into his master’s circles with the pads of his thumbs. Nandor’s skin is always cool, a tad dry, but the spot at the crown of his head where his hair is sometimes piled in a bun from sleeping is a little warm. Nandor emits low noises of contentment from the back of his throat.

“Ah, yes, keep doing that.”

Guillermo chomps down on his lower lip to bite back an unexpected laugh. Nandor can be a real pain in the ass some of the time--let’s be real, most of the time--but he is simultaneously an enigma of adorable mannerisms and idiocies. Damn Guillermo’s defenseless little heart for falling for him within days of working for Nandor the Relentless.

“Guillermo,” Nandor speaks again, and this time his familiar can tell he’s speaking from behind closed lids. A special kind of tickled lilt to his voice.

“Yes, master?”

“Nadja and I were on the ethernet the other day and she was showing me some very interesting pictures on the Pin-ter-est. There were some very beautiful men--uh--” Nandor catches himself. “There were some...moderately beautiful men with braids in their hair. I was wondering if you know how to make these braids on my hair.”

“Oh,” says Guillermo. “Oh.”

Yeah, oh. Okay. Okay. 

This definitely isn’t one of the many, many soft fantasies Guillermo has harbored in his quiet hours alone thinking about his master’s hair and their hair-brushing rituals and his lingering strokes on Nandor’s locks and Nandor’s hands guiding him where he should oil his waves next.

And Guillermo taking those fine strands between his fingers and braiding them into intricate designs.

Guillermo’s definitely not touch-starved or pathetic.

Not at all.

Guillermo scrounges around for the wherewithal to respond several beats later: “Yeah, I can definitely do that, master.”

“Very nice,” Nandor says around an audible smile, popping his eyes open. He tilts his head further back to look straight up at Guillermo, upside-down. “You have done the hair braiding before?”

“Oh, yeah,” Guillermo says immediately, like the idiot that he is, before he can catch himself--“I used to do it all the time on my hair.”

The air grows thick with the equivalent of a record scratch in Nandor’s head.

“Little Guillermo had long hair?” says Nandor. “Now this I must see.”

Guillermo’s face blanches. “I, um, didn’t save any pictures from then. Sorry.”

“Nonsense. Humans are all about the mirrors and the pictures and the pretending to be immortal. I sat for eight hours every day for a week to have my portrait done when I was a very fearsome warlord.”

“Yes, master.”

“Did you know that, Guillermo?”

“Yes--yes, I remember, master.”

“Sometimes I don’t think you realize how valuable that portrait over the fireplace is. It needs more dusting one of these days.”

“Um--right,” says Guillermo. He never knows how they get to this point.

“So show me some pictures on your intelligent phone of this young Guillermo with braids,” Nandor demands.

“I--no, no, you really don’t want to see that.” Guillermo’s getting desperate. “Like, I promise you, I looked really terrible in them.”

“Then it will give me a laugh. I’m bored, Guillermo. Show me the pictures.”

Guillermo’s hand that hangs loose at his side tightens into his fist.

“I can hear your heartbeat racing, Guillermo. Don’t worry, I won’t laugh too much. I’ve seen too much of this world, anyway.”

Guillermo highly doubts that, considering that Nandor has yet to master the difference between computer mice and real mice in casual conversation, but okay.

This is fine. This is okay.

Nandor can be a pretty cool guy, right? He’s mentioned sleeping with guys before and he’s rather open about things related to sexuality.

Guillermo’s about seventy-five percent sure this won’t lead to him being eaten or, worse, kicked out tonight.

With an extremely put-upon sigh, Guillermo digs for his phone and pulls up Google photos. He picks the least femme one of himself that he can find from his nine-year-old Pippi Longstocking era--it’s from when they let all the girls wear trousers instead of plaid skirts with their uniforms because there was a literal polar vortex that winter--and he lays the phone in Nandor’s waiting hand.

Nandor takes it and looks at it, and the moment stretches into several seconds of excruciating silence.

“Guillermo?” Nandor says at last, and there’s an odd tinge to the way he says his name, a kind of uncertainty grounded in something entirely different than the things that normally make Nandor feel that he doesn’t know his familiar all that well.

Guillermo sections off an inch-wide portion of Nandor’s hair and divides it into three ropes. “Yes?”

“Were you trying to be a girl?”

Nandor means no harm. Still, Guillermo can’t help it. He grimaces.

“No, master. I was--” Guillermo stops. Considers all the correct ways he could explain this to Nandor. Finally, he settles on the truth in terms that Nandor, old-fashioned and raised almost a millennium ago, might understand. “I _was_ a girl. But now I’m not.”

(He kind of cringes to hear himself saying it, but--baby steps. _Baby steps_ , he repeats to himself as his mantra.)

“Oh,” says Nandor. He taps at the screen ineffectually with two fingers, no doubt trying to zoom in on nine-year-old Guillermo’s face. He holds out the device to Guillermo impatiently, obviously trying to get him to zoom in for him, but Guillermo shakes his head at him in the mirror with a gesture at his hands being occupied finishing up the first braid in Nandor’s hair.

Nandor draws back his hand and squints down at the picture again. He worries the corner of his lip pensively with a fang.

Guillermo has just secured the end of the first braid with a rubber hair elastic from Nandor’s collection in the drawer of his vanity, when Nandor speaks up again.

“You look very strange in this portrait, Guillermo. It doesn’t feel right.”

Under normal circumstances, if Guillermo were anybody else and his relationship with Nandor were different, he might find it in himself to be offended. Instead, he knows instantly what Nandor is trying to say, and he’s blindsided by a nameless emotion so intense and chaotic that he has neither the space nor the capacity to catch it between his hands. Instead he rocks back infinitesimally on his heels from the impact of it, cursing himself silently for the pricking of salt at the corners of his eyes, and tries a wobbly smile at Nandor’s nonexistent reflection.

“Well, I never felt like I looked right, either. Not until I…” He fishes around for a simpler word, but decides on the best word in the end. “...Transitioned.” And then he huffs out a tiny laugh at the irony of it all, chatting with an age-old vampire about transitions and thinking he would be the last person to be able to understand.

That seems to seize Nandor’s attention, too. Ignoring Guillermo’s little yelp at the sudden movement disturbing his handiwork, Nandor leans back again to look up at Guillermo.

“I am glad you found yourself through this transition,” he says, and he means it. Guillermo can see it. He’s sincere.

“I’m glad too, master.” Guillermo’s smile is increasingly watery. Goddammit.

Still staring up at him, Nandor claps his hands together. “Well, I did not mean to diss your hair-braiding skills. They looked very fine in the portrait. It was just your face and...everything else that was wrong.”

Somehow, the backhanded compliment makes Guillermo grin even wider until it threatens to split his face in half.

“Thank you.”

“Did it involve any...pain?”

“What did?”

“The transition, Guillermo,” Nandor says, like he’s the idiot.

“Oh. Well, yeah, kind of. I had to undergo a kind of surgery after I went through puberty, so I’d have a flat chest. Like I have scars from it and everything.” Not to mention the debt repayment he’s still struggling with, but bringing that up would be a serious mood-killer.

Nandor hums and lifts his hand unconsciously to scratch the left side of his neck that is shielded by his beard. Guillermo’s gaze flits down to it and then back to the braid he’s finishing.

“I hope I have never called you a coward,” says Nandor.

Guillermo’s hands still a moment. He knows what Nandor’s trying to say. He likes to think he knows.

“See, there are many flaws in you still, but not of the cowardly nature,” Nandor clarifies. “And everything else is forgivable.”

Guillermo gives his braid a little teasing yank, at which his master makes a face but his eyes are clearly twinkling.

Nandor picks the thread of their conversation back up after another minute of companionable silence. “You know, I think I had a friend who was like you. Many, many centuries ago. He was one of my most trusted generals. We rode beside each other for many battles--many scourges of our enemies’ territories--and he was one of the most fearsome warriors of my time. But when we were together in our large tent for the night, he often liked to dress in the intricate dresses of his sister.” Nandor lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I told him many times it wasn’t very nice to steal from his own sister. But he looked quite beautiful.”

Guillermo hums in affirmation. He’s too choked up and overwhelmed right now to come up with anything coherent, much less tentatively correct Nandor on the possibility of pronouns.

All will come in good time, of course. They have all the time in the world to discuss this. Nandor’s a vampire and Guillermo’s gunning to be one, too. Time will be the least of their concerns.

“Yeah,” Guillermo huffs out, at last. “Yeah, we’ve...we’ve been around for a really long time. History likes to forget about us, but we’ve been there.”

Nandor bares his teeth in annoyance. “History is an ass. They don’t talk about Nandor the Relentless in their silly history books.”

Guillermo snorts. This is true.

In light of the gentleness with which Nandor has met the unexpected news of Guillermo’s identity, the familiar decides he can be a little generous with the compliments tonight. After all, no efforts on his part will ever teach Nandor the virtue of humility. “Well, master, they’re probably all intimidated by your fearsome exploits. They’d have to devote an entire book just to you, because just mentioning you in a little article would just be silly.”

Nandor makes a pleased noise at that. “Yes. Yes, Guillermo, you’re probably right.”

And, okay, Guillermo hates to be like this, but that makes him fucking _beam_.

“Finished!” he announces, tying off the last braid that he was working on.

“What does it look like? I can’t see. I have no reflection,” Nandor says impatiently.

“Hold on.” Guillermo grabs his phone from the vanity and takes several shots of the honeycomb design he’s done by tying the little braids together at different points on the back of Nandor’s head. He flips the screen to show his master.

“ _Oh_ , Guillermo, this is quite impressive. Even better than all the sexy pictures Nadja was saving on the Pin-ter-est”--okay, what the fuck--“So no demerits for you!”

“Oh!” says Guillermo, flustered. “You mean, like--no demerits ever?”

Nandor rolls his eyes. “No, no demerits for the next three days.”

“No demerits for the next month,” Guillermo says firmly.

“No demerits for the next week.”

“Two weeks.”

“Nandor?” Nadja calls through the door of the crypt. She turns the knob and sticks her head through. “What’s taking you so long? We have to leave for--” She cuts herself short at the sight of Nandor stroking the back of his head quite lovingly (and shamelessly) to feel the texture of the smooth braids interconnected there.

“Leave for what?” says Guillermo.

Nadja eyes Nandor with a knowing gleam in her gaze. “I see you’ve been training your familiar in many skills, Nandor.”

Nandor mimes vomiting at Nadja’s characteristic double entendre. “Eugh. This is girl talk, Nadja. Get out.”

Nadja does, but not before giving them both a wink and a flounce.

Right. Okay. So Guillermo’s not sure if his pronoun talk or his idioms talk with Nandor will have to come first.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I definitely did not spend my whole evening writing this instead of finishing my dissertation chapter, what are you talking about
> 
> Comments are welcomed with open arms and plenty of cookies and brownies!! I'd love to know what you think! <3 -kaleb
> 
> my socials:  
> tumblr: theoceanismyinkwell  
> insta: kc.barrie  
> wattpad: kalebbarrie


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